


Cogs

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle AU - Freeform, Rumbelle Revelry, Storybrooke AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: Things aren't always as they seem for Belle and Mr. Gold. (Storybrooke/Rumbelle AU)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rumpledspinster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledspinster/gifts).



> For rumpledspinster on Tumblr. It went a little nuts, but I hope you still enjoy it :)

“Mr. Gold?”

He drew his head up at hearing his name, pulling his attention away from the small pile of pawned jewelry in front of him, and focused his gaze on the smiling woman across the counter. Such a pretty woman, too; all chestnut-brown hair gently curling about her shoulders and bright blue eyes.

“Miss French. Forgive me; I must have been off with the fairies.”

“Is that what you're calling it these days?"

He chuckled. “Better than the alternative that I was neglecting a beautiful woman who desired my attention.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “Flatterer.”

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.” His smile was a touch wistful as he gazed at her. “How can I be of service?”

* * *

There is an order to things, a specific rotation of the cogs that power the world, and Mr. Gold ran his life by them. Sometimes he wondered what was compulsion and what was preferred habit, but he never lingered too long on it.

And like the reliable turning of those clockwork cogs, Miss French came to see him every morning, just a few minutes after he’d opened. He felt as if he came fully awake when she’d say his name in that lilting accent of hers, and after her all-too-brief visits, he’d stretch out the perpetual stiffness in his shoulders and get on with his day.

But this morning felt a little different to him than the rest. Something odd pinged around his mind, like the way a clock sounds just a bit different for awhile after a gear is replaced. As he conversed with the sweet woman before him, a new kind of desire pulled at his gut.

“Miss French?”

Her eyes were clear as she looked at him. “Yes, Mr. Gold?”

“Would you…” It was on the very tip of his tongue. Just a few more surmountable words, and yet they felt as foreign to him as another language. “…would you have dinner with me tonight?”

She smiled, shy and sweet, and her cheeks tinged pink. “I would love to.”

He wasn’t normally a blushing person, but could practically feel his own cheeks darkening. “It’s a date then.” Still, the words felt foreign. Lack of practice, he supposed.

“Shall I get you at eight?”

He stared at her for a moment, puzzled. No, that’s not right. He should pick _her_ up, but he found himself nodding along. “Alright, yes, that’s perfect.”

“Here at the store?”

He smiled, shrugging a shoulder. “Of course, where else?”

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that momentarily halted the gears of his world. “Perhaps that lovely old mansion on the hill? Or might I find you out terrorizing the townsfolk?”

His smile turned sharp and he leaned forward slightly over the counter. “Oh, not today, dearie. Rent day isn’t until next week.”

She giggled. “You’re terrible today.”

“Ah, well, that’s all your fault, I’m afraid,” he said with mock sternness, taking a polishing cloth to a small pocket watch pulled from the pile. “A man has to get on with his work, yet here you are, being delightfully distracting.” He gestured with the cloth absently, watching her through his lashes.

She bit her full lower lip, and his world once again tilted on its axis.

“I suppose we can’t have that, can we? I’ll leave you to it, then.” She winked and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “Have a good day, Mr. Gold.”

“Until later, Miss French.”

* * *

The day passed easily enough; moments of activity interspersed with little bolts of anticipation that jolted through him when his thoughts alighted on her. The occasional stiffness of his hands, exacerbated by working the fine motor skills necessary for detailed restoration, was the only thing that made him pause for breaks. He massaged the joints, working limberness back into them as he gazed out the front window to the library across the street and wondered what Miss French was up to.

Time flew fast, and soon his clocks rang the hour; the antique and faded cuckoo, the tinny glockenspiel, the heavy grandfather clock, all hollering at him that Miss French was due to arrive any second.

After the fourth set of noisy chimes, she walked through his shop door, the bell above tinkling in cheerful dissonance against his ringing companions.

“Miss French.” He scanned her from head to toe, temporarily stunned, but he had the grace to duck his head when he met her gaze and saw her raised eyebrow. “Forgive me; you look lovely.” Her little dress was deep blue that complemented her eyes, and his tie, and set off the dark curls she’d pulled to one side of her slender neck.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Gold.”

He should offer his name, it was only polite. But he so loved the way her mouth formed his surname, that he was loathe to make her part with it.

“You know, you can call me Belle, if you like.”

He smiled, suddenly shy. “I would like that, thank you. And… my first name is Andrew, by the way.”

She took a few steps closer, resting her hands on the counter between them. “Oh, I already knew your first name.” She said, the hint of a secret in her voice.

“Did you?” He tilted his head, regarding her curiously. “And how did you already know?”

“Well, you have to fill out your full name when you apply for a library card, and I’ve always remembered it.” A coy smile curved her lips. “I hope that’s alright.”

He smiled back. “It’s quite alright; I don’t mind you remembering my name in that way.”

“No?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

He shook his head, bemused at her sweet flirting. “Of course not. Now, shall we?” He started to move out from behind the counter, but stopped, wincing.

“Are you alright?” Her brow creased with concern.

“Ah, y-yes. Just a bit stiff, likely too much standing.”

“Andrew-”

“Truly, I’m fine.” He gave her a reassuring smile and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

She hesitated before smiling back, but he saw that it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

* * *

They secured a cozy corner booth at the restaurant, the owner insisting on taking care of them himself as he led them to their table. He was a kind-faced gentleman who treated Belle as if she were a favorite child and, despite Andrew’s reputation in town, extended the same kindness to him.

They placed their orders quickly enough; Belle going for the house specialty, and Andrew choosing a more decadent linguini dish. Wines were paired, bread was brought to their table, and their date had begun.

They chatted about this and that as they waited for their meals; her day at the library, the trinkets he was working on in his shop. They paused their conversation as the dishes arrived, and Andrew inhaled deeply as they were set down by a waiter, letting out an appreciative groan.

She smiled, a slightly faraway look in her eyes. “That’s your favorite.”

“It is indeed. Was that also on my library card application?” He teased, picking up his silverware and setting his napkin in his lap.

She blushed. “Has it always been your favorite?” She asked, skirting the gentle gibe.

He twirled a forkful of pasta, humming in assent. “I’m sure it’s hell on my arteries, but I can’t help loving it.”

She began cutting into her own meal, closing her eyes as she savored the first bite. His heart gave a peculiar stutter to see the pleasure on her face and he wondered what he could do to put that look there again.

Embarrassed at his thoughts, he took a swig of wine, enjoying the crisp flavor of the white he’d selected and letting the bite of alcohol distract him.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Was she making fun of him? Could she see through to his dirty mind?

“Ah, n-no. Just… enjoying my wine.” He raised the glass to her in a small toast before taking another sip and setting it back down.

She bit her lip again, but it wasn't enough to stifle the tiny grin that lingered on her mouth.

He regarded her as they ate and conversed about all manner of subjects; their favorite books, films, things to do around town when the weather was nice. He realized with a quiet start that _she_ was his favorite thing about their town, and his heart gave another odd little thump

They worked their way through the rest of dinner, and a shared dessert of tiramisu capped their meal. He parried his spoon against hers playfully when they came to the last bite, and sighed in mock resignation when he let her win the final morsel, secretly savoring her triumphant giggle as she popped it into her mouth.

The only hitch came when the owner came with the bill.

“How was your meal?” He gave Belle a warm smile, angling himself towards her. Andrew could have sworn he saw her stiffen, her smile growing a bit tight.

“It was lovely, thank you.”

“Good, good.” The man’s eyes flicked briefly to Andrew before returning to Belle. “And what are your plans for the rest of the evening? Shall I call you a cab to take you back home?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Andrew drummed his fingers on the table, anger flaring up at the host’s rudeness. “I’ll escort Miss French home safely, you can be sure of that. Please bring us the check.”

The owner gave him an odd look. “Belle,” he said in a hushed tone, “is everything alright? This isn’t your usual—“

“Everything is fine. Thank you.” Belle said, her smile a bit too bright. Andrew frowned.

The owner shifted on his feet, unsure. “Ah, alright then. Just the check.” He said, setting the billfold down between them and departing. Belle watched him leave, mortification written across her features.

“Belle?”

She snapped her gaze back to Andrew. “I’m sorry, Andrew. He— he’s an old family friend, and he just gets protective of me.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude.”

Andrew was certain that he _had_ meant to be rude, but decided to let it go for her sake. Belle was still there, with him, and Marco was nothing more than a fussy, over-protective old family friend, like she’d said. He wasn’t important.

He pulled out his wallet. “It’s alright; if I saw a pretty thing like you out with a monster like me, I’d want to rescue you, too.”

She reached out, placing a hand over his as it gripped the wallet, and squeezed. “Andrew, don’t say that. You’ve never been a monster.” He caught a glimpse of shining blue eyes before she looked away. “And dinner's on me, anyway.” She tried for lightness, but it seemed a bit strained.

He worked through her words as she pulled her credit card from the little clutch she’d carried to dinner and set it on the bill. He knew he was a monster; the whole town knew it, but hearing her say the opposite made him feel… strangely less so.

They made their way out after the bill was paid, Belle linking her arm with his.

“I had a lovely time with you, Andrew,” she said as they walked. “Perhaps we can do it again soon?”

“I’d love that, Belle.” Another strange thump of his heart.

It was a simple but profound kind of pleasure walking arm in arm down the street with Belle.  They stopped walking when they reached his shop, and she turned to face him, bringing a hand up to gently cup his cheek, taking the reins like she’d always done and rising to her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

He was momentarily stunned, but quickly came round, absorbing the feel of her lush mouth for a moment before sliding his arms around her and pulling her delicately curved body against his. She let out a little moan and he clutched her harder, slanting his lips over hers and reveling in the sensation of touching her.

He managed to work the door open enough to get them both inside the shop before slamming and pressing her against it. She brought her hands up to card through his hair, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp, sending shivers down his body.

The shivers intensified, ricocheting through his limbs and back up to his chest, and he broke away from her mouth with a gasp, his chest heaving.

“Andrew? Are you alright?”

The sensation stopped as suddenly as it started. He opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, that the feeling had been a fluke, when invisible fire lanced through his chest and threatened to burst his heart. He screamed, doubling over despite her desperate grasp on his shoulders.

“Andrew!”

He gasped hard, fighting the onslaught of pain. Spasms started in his limbs, locking the muscles, and he fell to the ground with another agonized yelp. Belle dropped to the floor beside him, her hands scrabbling at his chest.

“Oh, god, no. No, please. Not again!”

He writhed on the floor, limbs twitching in the torment, but her words filtered through. Again? What did she mean by again? He fought the pain, trying to draw enough breath to ask her, but another spasm gripped him and he let out a sobbing bellow, his head slamming against the floor.

Belle continued to tear at his clothing, finally giving up and ripping his shirt open, the buttons flying off and pinging against nearby objects. She ran her hands over his chest, pressing down in certain places on his skin.

He heard a gentle click, and watched in pained horror as a small section of his chest slid out of view.

Confusion and pain mingled with his horror and rendered him a helpless husk at her feet. He was powerless to do anything but watch and twitch as she inserted a slender hand into the middle of his chest and began fiddling with whatever she found inside.

Another sharp jolt surged through him and he screamed, a hard, broken sound carrying into a miserable sob, and he felt her other hand slide under his head and lift it up.

“Hey, look at me sweetheart. Come on, look at me, Andrew.” Her bright blue eyes were shiny with tears as he looked at her, gritting his teeth so hard against the agony he thought they’d crack.

Andrew brought up a shaking hand to clutch desperately at her arm. “B-Belle—“

“Shh, I know. I know!” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m so sorry!” She pulled back to look at him once more. “We’ll fix this, ok? I-I promise, we’ll figure it out and fix it this time and we’ll never have to do this part again. I promise!”

He heard another click, louder this time, and kept his eyes on Belle’s as the pain abated and the world went dark.

* * *

Belle reverently lowered his head to the ground, smoothing his disheveled hair away from his face and staring at the amber eyes that were now fixed on the ceiling. The chest panel slid back into place with a muffled click as she tugged the ruined shirt back over his smooth chest. She stroked her fingers lovingly across his cheek before leaning down to press a kiss to the robot’s slack mouth.

It, _he_ , was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, lovingly rendered by Marco to her exact physical specifications, with inner workings and personality fitted by Whale. A perfect replica of the man she loved. And everyone was always so kind to her when she took him out around town; solicitous to a fault, really, but she couldn’t bring herself to be too angered by it. What she was doing was pitiful, indeed.

Andrew and Belle never had a chance to have children in their short time together, so this was the only way she could think to keep something of him with her, despite the ever-present and painful knowledge that the simple grave set slightly apart from the rest in Storybrooke’s cemetery held the real remains of the man who’d been her husband.

Belle slumped to the floor, a sob bursting from her throat as more tears tracked down her face. She was so tired of it always going wrong, but refused to give up yet. The malfunction kept happening after the recreation of their first kiss. Whale continued to dig for the glitch, but every time, it fell apart at the kiss. But he had to find it. They just had to keep looking.

She pulled out her phone and dialed his number, not bothering to clear the weary roughness from her voice as he picked up.

“It happened again.”


End file.
